


The Beacon Hills Seven

by ashurbadaktu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Comics/Movie Crossover, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1453213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashurbadaktu/pseuds/ashurbadaktu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlet chapters detailing the investigation undertaken by Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier that just happens to take place in Beacon Hills, California.  SPOILERS up to the end of TWS and 3b.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Beacon Hills

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing just kinda popped into my head one day and I honestly don't know where it's going or if it'll ever go anywhere. As such, I'm just kinda letting these ficlets come and cobbling them together here for reference.

When the trail went cold, stone cold, Steve and Sam decided to get down to work.

Just because Zola’s algorithm hadn’t been utilized by the helicarriers didn’t mean that the targets were safe; Hydra had done more than just shown themselves to the world. They’d shown their resolve… and that meant that there were 20 million targets of varying ‘importance’ out there still wearing a bright red bullseye. 

Thankfully, Maria Hill had saved a copy of the algorithm and there were now quite a few well-trained individuals freed from the needs of paperwork who none-the-less wanted to make a difference in the world. Steve and Sam were two such individuals, which was why they were in a sleepy little town in California where apparently six of those individuals happened to live.

"It’s not that sleepy," Natasha warned them, which earned her a raised eyebrow from Steve. The Black Widow was playing the front woman for the remainders of SHIELD, so her presence could sadly not be physical, but she’d been acting as their personal fairy godmother for the last few months via frequent phonecalls.

"What’s that mean, exactly? Somebody Breaking Bad around here or something?" Sam asked as he watched the town sign go by. ’Beacon Hills’. Sounded… quaint. 

"Or something. The FBI had an agent in town not two weeks ago looking into the unusually high murder rate the place has going. The unusually high unsolved murder rate.”

Sam made a distinctly unhappy expression at that, but Steve kept his cool and tilted his head towards the phone.

"What were the results of the investigation, Nat?"

"Inconclusive."

"Lovely. That’s the most encouraging thing I’ve heard all day.”

Steve leaned back in his seat before turning to give Sam a, hopefully, encouraging smile.

"Sounds like a place that could use our help, don’t you think?"

"Don’t. Just… don’t."

Natasha’s eyeroll could be heard over the airwaves before she continued.

"That said… we haven’t seen or heard of any HYDRA activity in the area and no SHIELD base is located within 50 miles, so we don’t think it was them."

Sam’s face scrunched up in distaste. ”Then what DO we think it might be?”

"I was hoping you boys could find out. Six targets in that small of a town is something of an anomaly. And after the last couple of months, I’m not a big fan of anomalies."

"Yes, ma’am," 

—

Two miles behind them, a black SUV drove at exactly the same pace, headlights off despite the growing darkness.


	2. A Visit to the Vet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton's easy to find.

#68,519 - Alan Deaton  
It’s not that Deaton’s the highest on the list, because he’s not. He’s not even the highest in town. He is, however, the only one with an office open to the public and his name prominently displayed outside of the veterinary clinic he runs. He and Sam circle the place a few times, checking the back alley especially, before actually walking in and offering the kid at the front a smile.

"Is the doctor in?" Steve asks, though he can see an older man in the back wearing a tell-tale lab coat examining a a medium-sized mutt, probably some sort of retriever mix if he’s any judge. 

The kid almost seems to twitch for a moment before his eyes land on Sam, but he nods and holds up a hand.

"He’s almost done with Trixie, if you guys don’t mind waiting. Where’s the patient?"

Steve looks to Sam and Sam looks to Steve before Sam steps forward with a warm smile. The kid leans back a little, which both of them notice, before his lips twitch back into a customer-service grin. 

"It’s a bird," Sam starts nonetheless, "I’m a falcon trainer, and my little guy, name’s Redwing, he got a knock from one of the wild birds the other day and he’s been having trouble with his aim since. Keeps almost missing my arm. I didn’t bring him in since I figured it’d be better not to chance him messing with anyone’s pet rat or anything."

The kid’s smile goes a little warmer and Steve notices he’s got a crooked jaw.

"Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. We’ve never really done birds before, but I think he’s clear for a housecall after this. Lemme go check."

They get a ‘one minute’ hand signal before he disappears, which is when Sam turns to lean on the white wooden fencing around the front desk to look at Steve.

"Is it me, or did that kid just sniff us?”

—-

Deaton has them sit down in his office and closes the door before letting them know he’s well aware they’re lying.

"I know this is a small town, but I do keep up with the news. And, pardon me, but I thought you were the Falcon,” which he punctuates with a nod towards Sam, “which makes you—”

"Someone who’s not here to cause you any trouble," Steve tells him immediately, removing his baseball cap. The hat was useful, good for keeping casual eyes from figuring him out, but he’d had a feeling right from the start that this man was sharper than your average small town veterinarian and he’s not one to continue a facade when the gig is clearly up.

"I wouldn’t expect so. We’re not exactly trying to launch helicarriers here in Beacon Hills. Which leaves me wondering what brings you here."

Steve looks at Sam and Sam looks at Steve, raising his hands.

"Don’t look at me. This is your show. I’m just the co-pilot."

Captain America he might be but that doesn’t make him any better equipped for this. A very small part of him is tempted to call up Natasha, but he dismisses it immediately before breathing in.

"If you know what happened in DC, then you know that a dangerous organization has just shown it’s face for the first time in fifty years."

"HYDRA," Deaton supplies and Steve is wondering how a veterinarian can have the kind of weight to his gaze that this man has. He’s not that old, probably the same age as he and Sam are, but there’s a certain gravitas to the way he carries himself, to the way he watches and listens. He might be a veterinarian, but Steve’s pretty sure that’s not all he is. Especially since he’s on the list.

"Yes."

"And what does that have to do with me, exactly?"

Steve waits for a moment, trying to figure out the cadence of the words, find something in them that’ll tell him what it DOES have to do with him. He finds it a moment later when he catches the good doctor’s eyes shifting outside of the room, through the plexiglass windows to the kid at the front desk. He’s no super spy, doesn’t know how to weave his way through a nest of lies like Natasha or even Fury, but he knows what it looks like when someone is trying to protect something they care about. Which meant the kid was involved somehow. They hadn’t caught his name, but Steve made a mental note to find out.

"We have reason to believe someone may have or may still be targeting you. And not just you," he let his eyes wander towards the front desk as well, "but also a few other people in this town…"

—-

Scott walks out from the front desk and into the alleyway, looking around for whatever was producing the strange metallic tang at the back of his throat; he’d thought it might be the one guy with the falcon, but a sniff in his direction had made it clear it wasn’t him. Something metallic, but not enough for this. The scent is heavy, mixed with a variety of other smells into a unique olfactory texture heavy in some of the scents that Derek had taught him to identify.

Fear

Anger

Despair

He startles out of his focus when he hears a loud clanging from up on one of the neighboring roof tops and almost moves to investigate when he sees a feral cat trot down from the top of the dumpster towards the little bowls they left out to feed the strays. He breathes out in relief, laughing a little to himself before shaking it off.

True Alpha he might be, but obviously his scent training needs a little more practice.

He’s shaking his head at himself as he walks back in, which means he entirely misses the human-sized shadow that leaps from the rooftop onto the pavement towards Deaton’s office window.


	3. Dysfunctional Mathematics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While looking at some recent unsolveds, Sam and Steve notice that a few things don't add up.

The kid is gone by the time they’re done talking to Deaton, but the good doctor informs them that he’ll be back tomorrow after school. Apparently, his name is Scott McCall and he’s a star of the local lacrosse team.

It’s only when they get back to their hotel room that they realize that he’s also #837 on the list.  


When they start looking at some of the recent unsolved cases, they discover that the town was actually home to seven people on the list, and their hypothetical curiosity is starting to look entirely justified. If she was still alive, she would have been #10,436: Allison Elizabeth Argent, dead at the age of 18 from what the sheriff’s department is calling a ‘failed mugging’.

"This doesn’t sound like any mugging I’ve ever heard of," Sam points out, tapping the paper with the edge of the folder.

"According to this, the guys who stabbed her ran off when they saw the father’s car. But if you’re just fine stabbin’ some girl with her friends right there, why would some chump in an SUV scare you off before you get the money from it?"

Steve winces, as much from Sam’s point as from the idea of a young girl being murdered for nothing so much as her pocket money, and settles on the loveseat next to him to take a look at the file for himself. After a quick scan of her file, he tugs out the stapled sheets that make up the witness reports and starts flipping through.

"It’s almost like they’ve been coached," he says absently as he looks from one to the next, “‘It all happened so fast.’ It’s repeated all over each one. Like it’s been drilled into them."

Sam nods in agreement and Steve decides that the who might be more important than the what when it comes to these reports, given that assumption. He’s absolutely right.

"The lab assistant was there when it went down," Steve murmurs, as much to himself as to Sam, "Scott. So were…"

He can’t help blinking.

"#13,198, Lydia Martin. #14,564, Włodzimierz Stilinski—"

Sam stares at him for a moment, hard enough to make him pause, and Steve spreads his hands.

"It’s Polish," because he’d had to shout out more than a few awkward Polish names while under pressure, and correct pronunciation was not optional when you were giving out orders. "Not… what I would have expected in California, but—"

"But someone really loved their uncle or grandpa or something. Or really didn’t like kids.” 

Steve breathes out and points to the other two names.

"This one, Kira Yukimura, is #11,067. Isaac Lahey isn’t on the list, but he’s literally the only one involved who wasn’t."

He glances up at Sam.

"What kind of muggers go for a big group like that?"

But Sam is looking at the sheets in his hand, a frown marring his features. Steve leans in to try and see what his friend is concentrating on.

"What I wanna know is what kinda mugger uses… shit, the only blade that would match that description is a katana or something military."

A different detail catches Steve’s eye, though, namely the location. It’s not within the town proper, but instead, just outside of it. Something about the name niggles at the back of his brain, memories so old he’s not sure how they could still be relevant. 

"I think we need answers," he says, voice soft as he turns to Sam, "and I think the only way we’re going to get them is if we go out and take a look at this place for ourselves."

"You wanna go right now, Cap?" because Sam’ll go if he thinks Steve’s onto something. If he’s learned anything, it was that his partner had pretty damn good instincts. 

Steve shakes his head though.

"Tomorrow morning, so we don’t miss anything in the dark. I don’t think Oak Creek is going anywhere."

—

The shadow following them isn’t tired yet. He goes as soon as they start discussing dinner options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Details of how the police report of Allison’s death were recorded may not be fully accurate, but I’m not watching that part again and let’s just say in the MCU, that’s how it played out.


	4. Jim Morita

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Steve go to check out the site of the 'failed mugging' and the reverberations of certain actions are felt by one of the locals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worried about not doing justice to the topic in question, but ultimately, I felt it would be a cop out and complete bullshit not to deal with the ramifications of Steve Rogers visiting Oak Creek. Warnings in this chapter for issues of racism, war crimes, American political fuckery, etc.

Jim Morita was from Fresno, California.

It was something Steve remembers him saying constantly, a litany against the kind of comment that went well past the usual playful ribbing that any of his team would be used to and straight into the depths of more or less insinuating he was a traitor. And while initially he’d tried to keep himself out of it, had figured that with men fighting and dying over in the Pacific a little bit of anger was bound to out, he’d eventually started backing him up.

"Hey, what’s Fresno look like this time of year?"

"Bet your mom makes the kinda apple pies that’d be worth a trip to California."

"You question my officer again and you’ll get a fist to the jaw before you can do it again."

That last one had only come out once, but he’d nearly done it anyway when one of the airmen had tried to make an issue out of it after they’d gone and saved their asses from a HYDRA construction operation, of all things. Of course, Jim’d done the honors for him but that was just Jim and his chest felt tight with nostalgia even thinking about it.

He’d never thought to ask what’d gotten Jim into the army. A good part of it was just that he seemed like such a natural fit; they all were, the fight clear in their blood, in their eyes. After all, from the perspective of a kid who’d tried five times to get in, there wasn’t a better thing for a body to do at the time.

The other part, though, if he was honest (and he tried to be honest) was because he figured the answer would be awkward, for him and for Jim both. How do you ask a man why he’s fighting a war against the land of his ancestors without coming off like you think he’s not as American as you are? It wasn’t as if the Founding Fathers hadn’t been doing anything different, when it came down to it.

But stepping into Oak Creek with the file on it’s history in his hand, the question seems a hell of a lot more important to him than it ever has.

He hadn’t known about the internment camps back then. With no one at home to send him news, he’d gotten what information the SSR team gave him when it came to the homefront and only when he wasn’t too busy nearly getting himself killed taking out HYDRA bases. He wants to say he couldn’t have known but other men had gotten letters. Had Morita gotten letters? He couldn’t remember, and he desperately wished he could. Because then he wouldn’t have to wonder if the people Morita cared about had been locked up in a place like this.

Either way, it makes the moniker he’s carried for close to seventy years feel dirty.

He only startles a little when Sam’s hand lands on his arm. There’s no question said out loud, but that’s just because it doesn’t need to be. Steve nods firmly, because his anger isn’t what they need right now. They need him thinking, putting the pieces together.

They need to figure out what Allison Elizabeth Argent was doing here. They need to figure out what they are doing here.

"Hey," and shakes it off as much as he can, trying to get his head in the game, "anything special about this place?"

Sam pulls the paperwork from his hands and shuffles through the pages. After a second, he nods.

"Yeah, actually. It’s kinda a secret."

Steve blinks at that, confused, and turns to his friend with the obvious question on his lips.

"Why keep THIS one secret?"

Sam’s eyes go wide before they harden and he holds up the page for Steve to really see. There aren’t any pictures in the file they were provided, but the place, the words, they paint in the details well enough.

Steve feels like punching something.

"I figure we’ll look around, see if there’s anything left that might have gotten a bunch of kids to show up he— hey."

Sam smirks a little, but not as brightly as he usually does, and taps the top of the paper he’s holding.

"It’s like a fricking web; do you see this? Everybody keeps showing up involved with everybody else."

Steve sees it. The name. The name on the research document, the only one that seemed to be available on this particular site.

And what are the chance of TWO Yukimuras in the same town?

——

His journey to the site ensures that he has at least forty five minutes to look through the gear, files, and other information that the target and the birdman have left in their hotel room.

He really only needs ten.

Six living HYDRA targets. Seven total.

None of the names mean anything, but it tells him where the target and his companion will be, gives him places to case.

Seeing someone below the thousand mark makes him pause, but only to make sure that he marks that one as especially worth casing. HYDRA’s targets are no longer his targets.

He only has one target now.

—-

Lydia had almost finished reorganizing her schedule for the week when she starts to hear it. A second later, she’s shivering, the voices drowned out by sounds: sliding, clicks, a screech of metal on metal. She almost curls up on herself until she manages to get a few quick breaths. Steady herself. BREATHE.

Then she’s pulling her laptop over to type two words that mean nothing to her into Google, two words she’s almost certain mean that the very short peace they’d been granted since the death of the Nogitsune is about to be disturbed.

"Winter…. soldier."


	5. A Little Annoyance Does the Body Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two strangers meet in the night for the most ridiculous of reasons and two friends pull together to start figuring out a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SILLIER THAN LAST CHAPTER PROMISE. This is the scene that actually started this whole crazy roller coaster.

The operative is disturbed and somewhat confused to find that the best spot for observing the McCall house is, in fact, occupied.  
The man in the tree is between 20 to 30 years old, with dark hair, light eyes, and an unnatural focus on the young man trotting his motorcycle into garage. The operative isn’t sure whether he wants to observe this man or remove him, and an alien emotion rises in him as it has a few times since he’d left HYDRA’s employ, something between the general blankness and violent rage.

Annoyance.

It takes him a moment to decide what to do, and he’s glad that he has the tranq gun with him tonight. He’d thought that he might need it if the McCall boy noticed him again, but he has enough darts that it shouldn’t be a problem if that eventuality comes to pass as well so the decision is easily made.

He catches the other stalker to keep from making any noise and places him into the bushes as gently as possible to make sure he doesn’t jostle the dart in such a way such as to leave further marks on the skin. He waits the allotted amount of time, removes the dart, and leaps up into the tree to get the view he’d come here for: a perfect view into the young man’s bedroom with the correct angles to use the audio equipment he has with him.

"-ica! I mean, he wasn’t dressed up or anything, but he looked just like the news reports," the kid is saying, leaning back in his chair. He’s got a laptop on his desk and the operative can just make out a humanoid form shifting anxiously on one of the windows. Video chat. Unfortunately for the operative, the kid is wearing headphones so he doesn’t get the other half of the conversation.

After a few seconds, the kid rolls his eyes, his head rolling with it in overtly sarcastic amusement.

"They had a sick bird! I wasn’t going to bug them if they had a sick bird. Besides, the jacket was at home. I’m totally wearing it to work tomorrow."

Something said to him makes him pause and the kid’s head drops a little, a pained breath rattling through him.

"Her favorite was Hawkeye. You know. Considering."

"He let me keep one of her arrowheads."

"Either way," and that comes with a deep breath, "I… should probably get some homework done. Mom’s gonna be in later so I don’t have to start dinner yet."

"Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow, Stiles. Don’t forget to bring the thing for lab."

The kid smiled and there was something in that smile, something fond and crooked and gentle and similar to something, SOMETHING—

The operative closes his eyes tight and ignores blue eyes and too-soft blond hair and the rasping sound of asthmatic breathing swimming behind them with a hard swallow. It takes every ounce of concentration he has to push it away, get his head back in the game—

Which is why the clawed hand on his leg takes him by surprise, his shock registering for just long enough to be dragged down from the tree and thrown to the ground. He rolls like other people breathe, easy, natural, and settles into a low stance to take in his attacker.

The man from before has changed, more hair on his face, and those pale eyes now glow with a bizarre blue light of their own. The clawed hand that grabbed him curls with visceral rage in a clear sign of aggression and a fanged mouth curves into a snarl as the two stare at one another in the late twilight.

"What do you want with Scott?"

The operative doesn’t answer, unsure of the man’s affiliation as he hadn’t thought that any member of the Russoff clan had made it’s way this far west, and starts looking for the optimal exit strategy. His silence aggravates his attacker and the wolfman dives towards him, all anger and no skill. 

The operative’s lip twitches into something smug for half a second before slipping past him and into the woods, disappearing with a speed, grace, and skill that marks him beyond the average combatant. He hears the wolfman chase after him for a moment before stopping and he keeps going, heading for his SUV to return to his current base of operations.

Once in his vehicle, the operative closes his eyes and starts to reconfigure his plans given the new intelligence he’d stumbled across for the night. Then, with a resigned sigh, the key goes into the ignition and he’s gone.

Back at the tree, Derek rubs at his shoulder and calms himself down to shift into a more human form.

"What the hell was that?"

—-

"Lydia, this is not our lab homework."

She rolls her eyes and nudges his shoulder, well aware of that fact, thank you very much. Danny eyes her for another moment, trying to gauge her purpose for all this since Lydia largely ignored major world events unless they directly affected her, before giving up and logging onto his usual forum. She wants information, he’s going to get her the best he can and he’s already heard from a few people he knows that there are false torrents with bogus data being distributed by assholes.

That was why Lydia came to him, after all.

"And the thing you’re looking for is—"

"Winter Soldier," she repeats again, voice firm. "I think… I think he kills people."

"That’s generally what a soldier does," Danny points out with a little smile he hopes will settle her nerves. She’d come over for their usual lab work, but upon seeing her face, he’d asked her what was wrong and that was how the whole thing had spiraled away from homework and into internet searches and trotting through formerly classified documents.

"Yeah, but…" her fingers flutter at the edge of his vision, "it’s different." She swallows. "Quieter."

Danny nods slowly and doesn’t say anything, because he’s aware of more than she might be aware he’s aware of, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to come off like he’s patronizing her. He knows enough to know she doesn’t need that. 

"Okay. It might take a little while—"

"That’s fine."

And he can tell from that voice that she’s on the edge of freaking out. He slings his arm gently around her shoulder and it says a lot that she leans into it instead of complaining about his tendency towards physicality. Then again, there’d been more of that lately with a good portion of their class handling the loss of Allison. He’s not mentioning that right now, though. Things are, apparently, bad enough.

"How about we start with the lab work and I’ll check the script in between?"

She stares at him for a moment before breathing in, nodding, and pulling out her lab manual. He’s not sure if it’s the weight of the textbooks or just the knowledge that they’re finding out something, but some of the fluttering stills. Danny, feeling just a little relieved, pulls out his notes and fires up the word processor to get to work.


	6. The Picture Starts to Form

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's coalescing into a plot. I didn't mean it to. I don't even know at this point.

Steve had been thinking about it since he'd seen the kid's name on the list.

Scott McCall. #837.

The exacts on how the algorithm worked weren't really in his field of expertise, far from it, but he knew the general thrust of it: the list was to identify and eliminate possible threats to HYDRA in the present and the future. The kid he'd seen at the vet's office...

He wonders if that's how Erskine had looked at him. If the man had known what he would become and how he would change things.

Sam's off following up on another lead, #30,463, Daniel Mahealani, another kid, so he's on his own for the moment, waiting in their car outside of Dr. Deaton's office. He's there to see the kid roll up in a ramshackle motorcycle that he's betting he saved up for, jean jacket settling as he parks and pulls off his helmet. Catching the flag on the side of his arm makes him smile a little, and lets him know the kid may have ID'd him if his boss hadn't clued him in. Either way, he takes it as his cue.

"Hey... Scott, right?"

There's a quick shake of confusion as he looks up from locking up his bike followed by a moment of revelation.

"Mr. Rogers, right? Redwing's owner? Or, uh, the friend of Redwing's owner?"

Steve can't help the smile that gives him. Fictional or not (though Sam had informed him that Redwing had, in fact, been quite real), the fact that he gets identified via animal makes him like the kid that much more.

"Something like that," and it's just as clear the kid can see that appreciation. "Did Mr. Deaton talk to you about our visit?"

Scott looks conflicted, like he's not sure if he should be honest or not and it's pretty clear that he wants to be honest. Finally, after a moment, he nods. Steve nods in return and gestures to the sidewalk.

"You mind if we walk and talk a little?"

That makes the kid pause, his eyes going from the vet's office to Steve, and he finally holds up a hand.

"Lemme make sure Deaton doesn't need me for anything. I don't want to leave him short-handed, but I don't think we have any appointments for an hour or so."

"Plenty of time," Steve assures him before gesturing for him to go right ahead. The kid takes the cue and trots inside, returning relatively quickly.

"It's dead in there," he admits as he closes the door behind him, pausing just a minute after that to hold up his hands in silent apology. "I mean, not dead animals or anything. Just... we're kinda empty. And he said it'd be all right."

"Good. This shouldn't take too long." At least he hopes it won't.

A second later, the kid falls into step beside him. He's not going anywhere in particlar, just walking to walk, settle them into an easy rhythm. He's anxious about this whole business, unhappy with how many questions this little town is raising, and he knows that would just show all the more in a confined space. For his part, Scott looks a little relieved they'll be moving as well and Steve takes that to be a good sign.

"You're... you're Steve Rogers, right? I mean... you're, like..." and the word's on his lips as Steve raises a hand, not terribly enamored of the idea of announcing things even here. The kid picks up the hint and Steve nods, both in thanks and to confirm his suspicions. 

He doesn't begrudge Scott's wide eyes, nor his slightly-goofy starstruck smile and tries not to blush as the kids hands wheel in the air in front of him, voicing all the things he's being polite enough not to say.

"I don't know how much you know about what happened in DC--"

Scott shakes his head at first before glancing at him. Then he wobbles his hand.

"My best friend Stiles looked into it some. I mean, he has. He told me about some of it, but it's all kinda..." Scott looks a little lost, "I mean, it's huge. But I haven't-- I mean, I know it's important, but--"

"But you've been busy?" Steve asked, not unkindly. From what they'd been able to find in his files, Scott's family wasn't exactly well off and if there was anything Steve understood, it was needing to keep your eye on the things that kept food in your mouth and a roof over your head. 

He's a little surprised at the shadow in the kid's eyes as he nods. He doesn't prod it. Not yet.

"I'm guessing you're wondering what all that has to do with you, huh?"

It's written all over Scott's face, though there's something about his expression that almost says he's not as surprised as he could be. Something in this kid... it's not something he sees much, at least not in sixteen year old boys in this day and age. It's closer to something he'd seen in Sam (and in the mirror) and that thought, nimbus and undefined as it is, makes him all the more curious.

"I just--" Scott is looking anywhere at him, "I'm just your average kid, though. I don't have anything to do with like... terrorists and national security and Cap--" he falters and gives Steve a crooked grin, "you. I mean. Before right now."

Steve's not exactly the best lie detector in the world, but something about the first part rings false to him. It's obvious that the kid has no idea he might be on HYDRA's hit list... but he's been through something. Something that hadn't been documented in his records other than, perhaps, a disturbing drop in his grades earlier that school year.

"Is that so?" he says, nonchalant, leaving the door open. He's betting on the honesty he'd seen earlier and his bet pays off as something flashes through the kid's eyes.

"Yeah," and it doesn't even sound true to him, pretty clearly, but he sticks with it, meeting Steve's eyes as if to beg him not to push any further.

Steve doesn't say anything, but he turns away to look forward, to keep walking. 

Honestly, he's not sure what to do with this. It's pretty clear to him that this Scott McCall is a good kid, whatever he's been through, and Steve can't imagine telling him that HYDRA may be (at #837, almost certainly) gunning for him will help matters much given that he can't exactly call on SHIELD to provide any assistance. At the same time, leaving the kid blind to the threat doesn't sit well with him. If anyone knew what those bastards could do, how they could ruin lives and how ruthlessly they did it, it was Steve.

That's why he breathes in deep, takes a couple more steps, takes a quick look around--

And gets tackled to the ground as a couple of bullets go flying over their heads into a car parked right behind them. 

Steve's assessing the situation immediately, trying to catch a look at the shooter before turning to look at Scott, make sure the kid is all right. He's not: there's a growing red spot on Scott's left side flank that hits him to the heart and he looks up to see where the car might be going when he hears the growl of an engine.

Except it's not an engine. 

The kid he'd been talking with is gone, a rough-faced monster left in his wake. Claws press hard on the wound as glowing red eyes look from there to Scott, a mouth full of fangs opening in anger, pain, shock, and finally terror as he realizes that Steve is looking right at him with eyes wide. 

Steve's seen his share of strange things in his curiously long life, but this is definitely a new one. All the same, the glow in those red eyes doesn't look malignant to him. On the contrary, those eyes look just as scared as a teenage boy should look when a mysterious sniper decides to fire on him in the middle of the day.

A teenage boy who just jumped in front of a bullet for Captain America.

The kid shakes himself off, looking Steve over to make sure he hasn't been hit, and the fangs and eyes receed back until Scott McCall is looking back at him, tugging his jacket to try and cover the bullet wound. But Steve got a very good look. And Steve has something of an idea why Scott might be a target.

"A-are you okay?" though he's recoiling even as he stands, trying to pull away from Steve, pretend like he has no idea what's going on. 

"You're hit," he can't help saying, reaching out, but the kid steps back. "Come on, we need to get you to a hospital--"

"I'm fine!" and now the kid is frantic, eyes darting around. It's obvious he's trying to balance covering his secret and keeping them both safe and Steve doesn't say anything as he pushes himself to his feet. "I'm fine. Are you fine?"

"I'm not the one who took a bullet," Steve insists, stepping forward as cautiously as he can. The kid's obviously in pain, just as obviously trying to cover it up, and is freaking out on all cylinders. It's going to take some care, and some trust, not to make this situation worse. And with a shooter somewhere out there, unfound and unknown, he can't afford for this situation to get worse.

Scott looks like he wants to lie, wants to talk about anything else, but he knows, just like Steve knows, that the cat is very firmly out of the bag. It takes him a moment, and what he can see is a lot of internal struggle, but finally he breathes out and nods towards where they'd come from.

"We need to get back to Deaton."

It wasn't a doctor, but considering the kid wasn't human... 

Well, Steve's not going to argue. He doesn't mind the idea of some close cover either.

\--

"WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER!?"

The orderly curls in on himself, unsure of what he can do, unsure of what might happen to him because he doesn't have an answer to the question.

"Monsieur, I am sure that we will find her. I am SURE that this is a mix up, a mistake, she is here, of course. She did not--"

He's thrown nearly across the room and slams into one of the slabs and the air punches out of him in a rush. He doubles over, coughing rough and hard and tries to get his head back in order but his attacker isn't done. He's soon enough dragged up and held against a wall, piercing blue eyes staring up at him with unbriddled rage.

"Monsieur Argent, if you" he couldn't help but cough again, "if you could let me go, I will find out what has" cough "happened to your daughter. We will find her and then" another cough "we will wave all fees dropped as an apology so that you may put her to rest without another concern."

It's enough, thankfully. Just enough that the madman drops him on the ground and steps back, fingers itching for a weapon he is thankfully not wearing. When he speaks again, it's low, dangerous, and the orderly knows that if he DOESN'T find the girl's body, it'll be directly on him. 

Now the issue was to find out where she had been waylaid between his little morgue here in Lozère and the United States. That wouldn't be any trouble at all...


	7. Lines are Drawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor warning for dehumanization in the first section

Gerard Argent doesn’t like change. And things had changed a lot in the last few weeks.

The world was a brand new place. SHIELD had been dismantled, HYDRA had come into the light, and everyone seemed to be wondering what was next; what new, fresh horror was going to strike?

But for those who had always known, for those who had shared knowing looks, smiled knowing smiles, acted always for a cause they knew… it’s almost refreshing. Just because Gerard was skilled at playing the game didn’t mean he liked it.

“Was she suitable?” he grumbles over the phone, because he hasn’t gotten a straight answer out of the damnable man the whole phone conversation. It makes him feel as if they don’t respect him anymore. It makes him feel old, and there’s nothing he hates more than that.

“With all due respect, Argent, you’re lucky we got to her in time. Your original timetable… let’s just say, her talents would have gone to waste.”

“Is she up?”

“Not yet. The physical work is done, but we are still cycling the asset through the enhancements that were selected for her.”

“But she’s suitable,” which is all he wanted to know.

“Yes, Argent. She’s suitable. She should start training and conditioning in a few days.”

“Good,” he says, and hangs up without so much as a goodbye. He’d done his part and paid his dues and given them the prize of his collection. They didn’t need him being polite on top of that, especially when the ingrates had given him the run around for twenty minutes.

But she was suitable. Which means that finally, he’s given the cause one of his own. There’s a satisfaction in that which he can’t deny. The phone forgotten, he smiles and closes his eyes and whispers to himself almost like a prayer.

Hail Hydra.

——

Lydia’s been reading. It helps to stave off what feels like a perpetual chill.

The number of files that Danny had been able to get her was intimidatingly huge, too much for even her to parse, but the files on the Winter Soldier specifically are few and far between. Most of it is conjecture and guesswork, a couple of confirmed kills and less sightings, as well as a list of abilities that the SHIELD experts (whatever that means) had been able to surmise. 

It doesn’t tell her why she’s hearing his name in her ear. It doesn’t tell her why he might be in Beacon Hills.

The phone call, though? That’s pretty clear.

"Is there any reason why you’re just NOW telling me that Captain America is in town?"

Scott’s sigh makes her feel a little less upset about it, but after the mess her friends had made of informing her of why she was hearing things and seeing things and stumbling upon corpses, feeling out of the loop was more than a sensitive point. It was a boiling point.

"What do you MEAN you got SHOT?! By WHO?"

But of course, her eye settles on a single blurry photo at the top of her screen, a man with a silver arm running down an empty street somewhere in Europe. 

"I’ll be right there," and it comes out softer, almost a whisper.

The phone’s thrown in her bag and a pile of printed files are thrown in right after it a moment later, because she has a feeling that the pieces will start to come together as soon as gets to the vet clinic.

—-

The operative is not happy.

It’s new, feeling things like that. Happiness, not happiness. He’s more familiar with the latter than the former, but either way, it’s something. It’s undeniably something as he watches the kid dive on top of his target, and it’s followed by the much more familiar rage as he heads towards where the shooter is almost certainly located. 

His skill at triangulation has always been above reproach.

But there’s no one there when he gets there, whatever mission they’d had somehow completed. He searches for something, some clue as to their identity and thus, their mission, but gets a dose of frustration instead.

He’ll have to be more careful. There’s more going on here than even he thought he knew. 

More importantly, he has to find that shooter.

No one takes out his target. No one.


End file.
